


I Come With Knives

by DisasterSoundtrack



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-18 16:23:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5934973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisasterSoundtrack/pseuds/DisasterSoundtrack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are marks. I inspect them in the pale light of the early morning. I can’t sleep.<br/>I trace them with my index finger. The half-moon of my teeth on Violet’s left shoulderblade. Five purple circles, some bigger, some smaller, on the back of her neck.<br/>Scratches along her spine, but these are not from last night. These are from another night; not with me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Life of Trends and Make-Believe

* /Pearl/

I see them in the fluorescent lights of the club. Pale whites and electric blues dancing on bodies, connected in an embrace, grinding on each other. The boy is tall and lean with fair hair, dressed in all black, tight jeans and a smart shirt. Another person is shorter, smaller and, to me, simply beautiful. Their body is boyish, but you can’t say the same about their face. Their dark hair is pulled into a bun at the back of their head. I can see their eyes, glimmering, their hands caressing the other man’s body.

A pool of acid is boiling in my stomach. I clench my fist, taking another long sip of my drink, while I watch Max lean in and whisper something into Violet’s ear. Violet laughs, white teeth, face changing, their cheeks touching. It’s like a very disturbing movie: I don’t want to watch, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the scene in front of me. I finish my drink in one gulp, set the glass back on the bar, and barge into the dancefloor to take my girl back.

But as I walk towards them, somebody grabs me by the arm. “Pearl. Let it go.” I love Fame, but I swear I could murder her right here, right now, because I can see Max and Vi leaving the dancefloor and disappearing somewhere together, holding hands.

“Why?”

The simplest questions very often stun people into silence, but not Fame. She has a plethora of answers to every question known to man.

“Because you don’t want it like this. You want Violet to want that, too. Right?”

Fame knows she’s fucking right, because she leaves, having said her part. There’s no point stopping me anymore, because Violet and Max are nowhere to be seen. For all I know, they might be fucking in the bathroom right now. I know Max is a proper lady and would never do that, but Violet has a tendency to mess with people’s heads. She doesn’t even realize she does that. She did that to me.

I can never tell her. But hey, I still want my girl back.

Minutes later, when I’m smoking outside the club, on a wet street of Brooklyn, Violet runs straight into my arms, and she’s wearing a cheap yellowish blond wig she obviously must’ve stolen from someone. “Hey babe, what you up to? Let’s hit the road.”

The fact that Violet has a low alcohol tolerance was never a secret. She’s swaying, holding onto my forearm, giggling. She’s staying in my apartment tonight. She would stay every other night, too, if I had a say in this. Violet’s pink in the cheeks. If she had make-up on, I bet it would be smeared all over her face.

I call us a cab while Vi is still clinging to me, trying to get deeper into my embrace. I can feel her body shivering. “I told you it’s cold out and you still didn’t bring a jacket.”

“Fuck off, Matt, it’s not that cold.”

“But you still want my jacket, right?”

“No.” She grits her teeth when she says that. Violet is one proud beast. I take my leather jacket off, covering the cold mess in front of me.

Too bad she didn’t get Max’s jacket. I’m still in a bit of rage when Violet pops up my jacket’s collar and blows me a kiss. We ride the cab in silence, on opposite sides of the backseat, and she’s texting somebody the whole time, a drunk giggle escaping her lips every other minute.

New York is bathing in a drizzle. The puddles on the streets light up with all the neon colors, beautiful and sickening, and every little useless bit of air separates me from my boy, my girl, my only person. I can feel the alcohol mixing with jealously in my blood, and fuck, Jason looks so gorgoeus in that terrible wig I just launch myself at him, knocking his phone off his hands.

“What the fuck?”

The phone lands somewhere on the floor, my lips somewhere on Jason’s neck, hands on his dick, and then he understands.

“Oh my God, you’re just horny, right? Should’ve just said so.”

“You shut up right now”, I demand, stunning him with a kiss, but it’s more like mutual biting, because I’m angry, I’m so, so angry. At Violet, at Max, at Fame. At myself, the most of all.

I never should’ve fallen for this devilish little creature. But it’s done now. Done for good.

Jason bites my lip so hard I hiss and pull back. He’s tangled his fingers in the fabric of my t-shirt, but his eyes are cold, expression like carved of stone.

“Keep it in your pants until we get home”, he says, and pushes me away to search for his phone on the floor.

I hate tonight with fiery passion.

*

I am not going to go easy on Jason tonight.

We enter my apartment and the first thing I do is grab him, throw my jacket off his back, capture his lips in a kiss. I expect drunk compliance, softness and more giggles, but I get teeth, nails on my neck and a struggle. It’s like his body is fighting to break free, but his lips are acting just the opposite.

“You want it hard tonight? Huh? You want it the hard way?”

Jason flashes me a deranged grin in the darkness of the hallway. “Yeah.”

“Tell me exactly how you want it.”

He brings me closer, digging his nails even deeper into my skin, and suddenly we’re grinding on each other, Jason’s hot breath in my ear, whispering.

“I want it hard and dirty, against your kitchen counter, with my hands tied behind my back.”

This little slut is going to get exactly that. “Clothes off”, I command, running to the bedroom to get condoms and lube, erection very uncomfortable in my jeans. Luckily, the trip is not too long. Violet, _Jason_ , is standing in the middle of my kitchen, naked feet on cold tiles, naked body slightly blue in the darkness of my apartment, extending his hands to me.

“Tie me up, babe.”

I take off my belt and turn Jason around, leather squeaking when I tighten its grip on Jason’s wrists. There’s a sharp intake of breath when his body hits the kitchen counter and I unzip my pants, letting them fall to my ankles, and then I free my dick from my underwear.

Jason is tight around me, warm and welcoming, despite the fact that his body is still struggling to keep control, covered in a sheen of cold sweat. I hold onto his hips, making sure to leave bruises as I thrust, deep, unforgiving, releasing all my fury. “See, honey, this is what happens when you flirt with Max all night.”

“So this is about Max? What the – ”, Jason pants out, but I cut him short, with my palm over his mouth. I’m bent over Jason’s back, his tied palms poking my stomach. I didn’t even bother to take off my t-shirt. I won’t bother to jerk Jason off either. He’s moaning into my palm and I bite the skin between his shoulderblades.

Jason won’t scream, I know he won’t, he’s way too good for that. Me, on the other hand? I’m losing my mind.

This boy in front of me is the hottest thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on, even though I swore to myself and others he’s not even close to my type. I’m pushing into him, chasing my release, blanking out, one palm still clasped over Vi’s mouth, the other searching for balance on the counter. My lover moves suddenly, starts giving me back all the pushes I gave him, rocking into me. The fit is so gorgeous I come with a groan within seconds.

Anybody who lets me mess them up like that is my type, I’m pretty sure.

Jason feels that I’m done, feels me pulling out, and turns to me with a groan of his own. Now, he’s the angry one.

“Untie me, fucker. Now.” He’s struggling to free his hands from my belt, but to no avail. I help and his palms are on his own dick in seconds, jerking it furiously. Jason is still staring into my eyes when he comes, on my stomach and on my kitchen floor.

“You fucking bastard, I hate you so much”, he says, jumping to sit butt-naked on the counter, pulling me in suffocate me with his legs, twisting around my waist, or his mouth, latching onto mine. I can feel the blood from his broken lip underneath my tongue; he probably bit his own lip too hard, trying not to scream before.

This kid; this kid is deranged.

I have no idea how much time passes, but I start getting cold, and Jason isn’t wearing anything at all. I don’t want him to get sick because of me. It’s so simple to just pick him up and carry him to bed, and although I was never super strong, he doesn’t weigh much.

“I’m so sleepy, Matt. But I can walk, you know.”

“But you don’t have to.”

I put Violet down on my bed and lie down right next to the most beautiful person I have ever seen. It’s very us: a rough moment turns into a tender one, seamlessly. I’m not angry anymore, not even one bit, because I am the one who got to take Jason home in the end. It’s okay; it’s enough for tonight. I kiss his naked arm, we cover ourselves with blankets and fall asleep.

*

There are marks. I inspect them in the pale light of the early morning. I can’t sleep.

I trace them with my index finger. The half-moon of my teeth on Violet’s left shoulderblade. Five purple circles, some bigger, some smaller, on the back of her neck.

Scratches along her spine, but these are not from last night. These are from another night; not with me.

I press my fingers against the most prominent bitemark, softly, fleetingly. I breathe in the smell of Violet’s hair, all freed from the tight bun, wild and dark against my white pillows.

I really need a smoke. She’s too pristine, and yet too ruined. I can’t take this, not one more minute of this, yet this is all I ever needed.

It’s raining again, I realize, sitting in an uncomfortable folding chair on the balcony. I hate it when it rains.

Coming back to the bedroom, I hear Violet talking on the phone to someone, and laughing in an adorable way. Someway, somehow, I know this laugh isn’t meant for my ears.


	2. Coming Up For Air

* /Violet/

It takes two deep breaths that make my lungs hurt. I’m sure that corsets are going to be the death of me someday. I can feel the chemicals from poppers flowing in my bloodstream, I check myself out in the mirror for the very last time and I’m perfect, I’m beautiful, I’m flawless.

I am their queen. They will all bow to me.

And they do. I don’t bend to pick up all the bills people throw at me, I concentrate on my number, on my lipsyncs, my poses, the dancers, the aerial. I concentrate on being the best I can be.

I wait until the very last number ends before I let go of the concentration, the perfection, the mask, and I smile. It’s my time to bow, and I do, very gracefully, laughing, clutching my chest, mouthing “thank you”, picking up a few crumpled bills, leaving the rest for the stage manager to bring me later.

I untie my corset as soon as I step behind the scenes. I have to focus on not passing out. Making a few shoulder rolls helps, and I can put on my famous black/tartan reveal outfit for the last applause round. Listening to people cheer my name never gets boring. The lights explode in my face.

I’m in love with everybody here.

My dressing room is tiny, but at least I have it all for myself. I have to admit, New York’s been treating me well. The air still smells like my perfume, but now the scent is mixed with another, coming from a bouquet of dark purple, almost black roses that is resting in a vase on the counter. There’s a small, black card in between the flowers, covered in handwriting that I immediately recognize as Max’s.

_Hello, star of the night (star of all the nights),_

_There’s not a place in the world where I would rather be right now than by your side, watching you tear this stage to pieces. London will never be beautiful enough without you to light up the gloomy afternoons._

_I hope you’re having the time of your life._

_Now go, steal the night, steal all of their hearts. I’ll see you in two weeks in sunny LA._

_All the love,_

_Max_

I can’t contain the stupid grin that’s breaking out on my face, so I grin to myself, carefully storing Max’s card away in my wallet, my soul warmed up by words that sounded like poetry, even though they were just a few simple compliments. The smell of roses makes my head spin. My heart is beating kind of faster, but it’s not because I’m tired.

I take off the drag and head back to the club. There’s a non-public VIP area and I can spot Pearl by the bar immediately, sitting there with her new BFF, Willam. Somebody passes right in front of my face and I lose sight of the pair for a second. When I can see them again, they’re making out.

It’s weird. My first thought is just this, that it’s weird.

Then, I feel a dull pang of jealousy, like somebody hit me in the stomach. All of the warmth caused by Max’s card disappears.

In the end, I realize Matt is stoned out of his mind, barely holding himself upright, and all I am is disappointed. Willam sees me and waves me over. “I rented a car, are you babysitting this one tonight? I can drive you.”

I was supposed to stay at Fame’s, but I can’t leave Matt alone like this. I wish I could, but I’m not this person anymore.

I was. I don’t want to think about it now.

Willam is a great person. A fun slut. A badass performer, amazing to hang out with. Willam is great for everything, anything, but kissing Pearl.

I obsess over this in my head, quietly, but inside I’m screaming, and Willam’s friend Anthony drives us through the streets of Brooklyn, Pearl’s head resting on Willam’s thighs in the backseat, 90’s pop on the radio. I text Max, dismissing a fleeting thought about timezones.

**From: Violet  
To: Max**

_I stole the entire night. Thank you!!!_

**From: Max  
To: Violet**

_I knew you would. You’re truly one of a kind._

The answer comes immediately. I can’t help but imagine Max in bed, early morning, hair all messed up, a wrinkled t-shirt, or no t-shirt at all. I’m smiling to myself again.

There are people in your life that you can always count on, come hell or high water, they’re going to be there for you. My mom. Fame. Max.

And then there are wildcards. Wildcards like that one falling asleep in the backseat of Willam’s rented car.

**From: Violet  
To: Max**

_I absolutely love the flowers._

**From: Max  
To: Violet**

_Oh, you’re welcome, princess._

*

For some reason, Pearl has been laid down on his living room couch, not in his bed. It strikes me as weird at 2 in the morning when I’m sitting on the fluffy carpet right next to that couch, playing with Matt’s fingers, making sure he’s breathing alright. I guess we were all pretty much out of it, Willam and me, and Anthony just didn’t give a fuck, so he dumped Matt wherever it was available.

My phone has been quiet for a while now. Matt’s apartment has always been cold, the chemicals in my veins don’t flow anymore, so I reach for a grey hoodie that’s hanging from a nearby chair.

It has become a weird tradition now, me wearing Matt’s clothes. I laugh quietly into the sleeve, surrounding myself with the soft fabric that smells like the seemingly dead guy fast asleep on the couch. I can see his face, my eyes already well accustomed to the darkness. How can a person look like this, precious, darling and soft, while being an absolute devil and a life ruiner? How can this be my friend? I feel terrible; like throwing up.

About half an hour later I’m almost asleep too, curled into a ball on the carpet, covered by the hoodie, when I feel Matt poking me in the arm.

“Vi? Vi? Why the fuck are you on the floor?”

“Because Pastabody left you here.”

I take a look at Pearl, all of my bones hurting, and he’s frowning. A blanket is slipping off his legs.

“I understood nothing of what you’ve just said.”

“Yeah, whatever. Bed?” I just really, really want to go to sleep. I’ve had enough of tonight.

“No way, I can’t move. You come here.”

The thought of me taking the bed doesn’t cross our minds, not even for a second. My bones are going to regret this a lot in the morning.

Matt shuffles a little to make room for me. It’s not much room, but it’s enough for me to lay on my side, my face pressed against Matt’s chest, our legs tangling together, hands grabbing for each other.

It’s easy. It’s simple. It’s what we do.

Well, one of many things.

He still smells like a night at the club, weed, alcohol and Willam’s hairspray. I don’t care; I’m finally warm.

*

It’s been three weeks without Jason. 21 days. I’ve been counting.

I have pictures of the two of us saved on my phone, of course I do, a whole separate folder. We’re making funny faces at the camera, tipsy at the afterparty, Jason kisses me on the cheek. I also have photos of both of us dolled up, high drag, beautiful and glittery, leather and lace, sick, sickening, Violet smiling seductively.

It’s been almost a year of always living half a life. Always missing something. Always being missing.

**From: Violet  
To: Max**

_I miss you bitch! Can’t wait for LA._

If only I could tell Jason that he’s wasting time – he’s wasting all the nights we could be spending in bed together, all the days that could be filled with a love coming from a person with a real heart.

I’ve got a real heart, and it’s getting harder and harder to hide it.

**From: Max  
To: Violet**

_LA is going to be an affair of the century. We’re going to tear it apart, you and I._

_I miss you a lot._

* /Pearl/

“Vi? Do drugs with me please?”

Jason looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. What the hell, maybe I have.

“Matt, you can’t be serious. Remember last night?”

“What about it? You know I lose my self-control around Willam, that’s it.”

“No drugs today”, he points at me from where he’s standing in my kitchen, next to a vase of some weird, black roses. “We’re having dinner at Fame’s today and it’s already 2 PM, I wanna go shopping first, so let’s go.”

Violet goes all out at Fifth Avenue. I joke that if he keeps spending like that, he’s going to spend his entire prize money very soon, but he shuts me up with a brief kiss right on the lips, in the middle of a crowded street. I’m still hangover and slow, so I don’t say anything else, watching him pick out some flimsy lingerie, imagining him wearing all of this for me, or nothing at all.

He tries on a black gown that hits the floor in just the perfect place, and then drags me inside the dressing room with him.

“Matt?”, he whispers between devouring kisses. We have to keep quiet, but it’s goddamn hard when he’s touching me like that.

“Yes?”

“I want you to blow me.”

Well, shit.

We’re being very careful not to get any cum on the beautiful black gown and other things Vi’s been trying on, so I swallow every last drop. We have to be careful so that nobody hears or sees what we’re doing, or we’ll be banned from this store for life, and it’s one of my favorite ones. All the sneaking around and Jason’s warm body gets me so horny he has to suck me off, too, or I’d just explode in my pants.

He doesn’t buy the gown in the end; he just takes a lot of pictures and says he’s gonna have his designer friend do one like this for him. We head to Fame’s and have dinner with him and his husband. Violet’s presence by my side makes it all easier, makes it all more fun; makes it all worth it.

At the back of my mind, something’s still bugging me, but I forget.


	3. Heaven Wouldn’t Have Me, ‘Cause I’m All About Me

* /Violet/

It’s raining when I step out of the plane in Los Angeles.

Pearly raindrops are banging against glass when I’m dragging my carry-on, moving my feet forward on a conveyor belt. The world is grey and I feel like laughing hysterically. It’s like rain follows me everywhere I go. Isn’t that unfortunate.

While I’m waiting for luggage, I send two „Landed safely” texts: to my mom and to Fame. I mull over sending one to Pearl as well, but then again, would he even bother? He’s probably out with Jake and their stoner friends. Maybe later.

I grab my luggage and head for an airport café. I crack open my laptop and plug the headphones in, getting comfy in an armchair with a cup of coffee. It’s still three hours before Max arrives.

One hour into my me-time I receive a text.

**From: Pearl  
To: Violet**

_You landed alright? Why won’t you text me_

Okay, there goes my “stoned out of his mind” theory. It’s kind of cute that he worries about me, but lately he’s being very intense. Before I left, I almost asked him why he’s behaving like that, but then I’ve decided to drop it. Maybe I shouldn’t have.

I can feel Pearl and I have some talking to do, but I hate even thinking about it right now.

**From: Violet  
To: Pearl**

_Thought you were busy lmao. I’m ok ;)_

**From: Pearl  
To: Violet**

_Glad to hear that, have fun xo_

Luckily, there are no more texts arriving, and I start counting minutes to Max’s plane landing. I try to eat a piece of cheesecake I bought, but my stomach gets all heavy and full of butterflies, so I just give up and head for the waiting area at Arrivals. We haven’t seen each other for such a ridiculously long time, I even retrieve a mirror from the depths of my bag to check myself out. Teeth? Clean. Face? Decent. Hair? Will do.

Why am I even so concerned about this? _This is just fucking Max_ , I’m telling myself.

But it’s not just Max when I see him, tall and stunning, in a black cardigan; it is my point of reference, my gravity, my rock. I laugh like a dork when we’re hugging, and Max’s lips hit my ear instead of my cheek, but he hugs me back, smells so good, and suddenly I’m alright, I’m better than ever, I’m safe.

“Hey princess”, he says. “Missed you. Did you miss me?”

“You wouldn’t believe.”

 

* /Max/

I’m not letting go of Jason.

Once I started holding his hand in the cab to the hotel, I’ve kept holding it. At one point, he caressed my knuckles with his thumb, and it felt so good I almost gasped out loud.

I definitely should calm down. I’ve been in a serious, amazing-turned-terrible relationship before, and it was very different from this, from what I’m feeling for Violet. I know my heart has chosen wrong. It’s chosen a free spirit, a powerhouse, a runner. It’s chosen someone who’s very hard to domesticate. But, at the same time, it’s also chosen this little gem of a person who’s about to slip into a nap, head resting on my arm, this person resonating warmth, honesty and good intentions. Someone so complex and so mysterious, so fascinating.

I’ve tried domesticating a wolf before. Now, I’m domesticating a panther.

“Max? Max, look.” Jason nudges me, pointing at our hotel we’re just approaching. The street is blocked by police cars and firetrucks, a large group of confused people gathered on the sidewalk. “What’s happening?”

I ask the cab driver to wait for us. Jason and I leave the car. When we try to get closer to the hotel, we’re stopped short by a police officer. “Excuse me. Nobody can get in, there’s a fire on one of the top floors.”

Well, there go our reservations for the night.

“Oh, amazing”, says Jason. “Can we call the club? Ask them if they can book us something else ASAP? Or do we look by ourselves?”

A chance I didn’t expect to get falls right into my lap. I’m going to take it.

“How about something else? I kinda have another idea.”

Jason is smiling, this little “oooh bitch!” crooked smile. “I’m all for it. What do you have in mind?”

“I’ll tell you in the car, okay?”

We still haven’t let go of each other’s hands.

*

“Last time you cooked for me, it was much less successful.”

“What can I say, I’ve learned.” _I’ve learned for you, just for you._

“This is delicious, I love it.”

We’re sitting on the floor of an almost empty apartment that belongs to an old friend of mine. He’s living with his partner now, hardly ever stops by here. I made pasta with tomato sauce and mozarella, bough wine in a store on the other side of the street. Arcade Fire is playing, Jason is sitting in front of me, relaxed and cheerful, a smile playing on his lips. It’s our Hollywood night and I’m glad the hotel was on fire.

We’re doing LA tomorrow, Riverside the next day, then San Diego two days later. It’s almost a week with Violet by my side, Violet on stage next to me, almost one week of time for me to show Jason how he deserves to be treated. How he could be treated from now on.

He leans in, closer to me, takes me by the hand, laughing about some story involving Lady Bunny and Milk, I stare into his eyes, and I know I’m winning.

I’m winning.

*

The thing is, this sorry excuse of an apartment only has one inflatable mattress. There’s no bed, no couch, no armchairs. Just a mattress I inflated and covered with a sheet. There’s one blanket and two pillows, but they’re not the cleanest I’ve seen.

Jason laughs at it though. He exits the bathroom in pajama shorts, drying his hair with a towel, and admires my efforts to make our accommodation bearable.

“I’m so sorry, darling. I’m afraid that’s the best I can do.”

“At least it’s not cold here. Pearl’s apartment is always cold, blankets, duvets, nevermind, always cold.”

I don’t say anything to that. Pearl’s a great guy, but… Cold apartment, cold air, cold heart.

“Fuck, I could just fall asleep right now. I’m beat, Max. Let’s go sleep.”

We do. Well, we try. Because as soon as we’re underneath the shared blanket, Jason sighs very deeply, then releases air in a long, full-body motion, clinging to me hard like he did at the airport.

“Are you alright, babe? Do you wanna talk?” I ask.

“Yeah. No. I mean, I’m just fucking tired sometimes. It’s been great and all that, but I’m exhausted. I don’t even remember how my own room looks like. The last time I’ve seen my mother was in Portland for some reason.”

“You’ve been working very hard, I know. Too hard if you ask me. Maybe you need to take a break?”

“I can’t. That would be so ungrateful of me. I’ve been given this lifetime opportunity to make it big and I’m considering taking a break? Hell no, Max.”

“You’re putting a lot of pressure on yourself. It’s not like everybody’s gonna forget about you if you take just a week off in Atlanta, right? Spend time with old friends and family? Breathe a little? Even superstars need to take care of themselves once in a while.”

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should go home after California. I’m gonna have to cancel just one show to have a week off.”

“See, told you that was doable.”

He’s way calmer now, wrapping his arms around my torso in the darkness of the room. I comb my fingers through his damp hair, gently. It smells like coconut.

“How come do you always see the bigger picture, Max?”

“Don’t worry, it’s only when it comes to other people. I can’t ever see my own.”

It’s Jason who makes the move. We’re already pretty damn close, but he pulls on my t-shirt to bring me even closer and lays his lips upon mine. There’s no hesitation, no doubt, no shaky hands, just the two of us, my palm splayed on his hip, his fingers in my hair, lips moving against each other. Everything is how it’s supposed to be, finally. I am so happy I want to yell, or sing about it. He’s surprisingly gentle and lovely, tastes like minty toothpaste and a hint of wine.

Jason pulls away, still holding the front of my shirt. “I’m so glad you’re here, you have no idea. Thank you for everything.”

“No, I’m glad _you’re_ here. And I’m not going anywhere, so yeah. You want me to sing you to sleep, princess?”

“Yes, please.”

“ _A long, long time ago, I can still remember how that music used to make me smile…_ ”

I can’t sleep for another hour, my mind still trying to wrap around the idea of my first kiss with Violet becoming reality. I listen to Jason’s slow, even breaths, and finally drift away as well.

* /Violet/

I don’t understand love. I never claimed I did.

I love my mother. When I was a kid, we had a cat, and I loved him, too. I have beautiful friends who toss the world „love” around on the daily, and they always mean other people. That, I can understand.

I don’t know anything about romantic love though. About that kind of feeling that freezes you in place when you look at a certain person. The feeling that doesn’t let you sleep, eat or breathe normally, and convinces you that it’s okay, you can live just by love. That it’s absolutely everything you need.

Romance always seemed ridiculous to me. It was an unnecessary prelude to sex. It felt like a throwaway. Why do that if you can get straight to the third base and shut up about it? Get up the next day, pick up your clothes, close their door behind you, leave.

I had no idea I was being romanced for a long, long time, until I had wine and pasta with Max on the floor of an almost empty room. I had no idea I was being wooed. I was in the dark.

I’m holding Max’s hand in mine on an inflatable mattress and I still don’t understand romance, but at least I understand something now.

* /Pearl/

I bring a twink home and fuck him.

I make a point to remember his name. It’s Luke. It’s a nice name. My name sounds good in his mouth, too, when I make him scream it out.

And then, my drag name slips past his lips. Of course, another starfucker.

I’m just an ambitious nobody. I shouldn’t be getting so many of them. I don’t want to.

I imagine his hair darker, longer, curly and wild. I imagine his lips less full, his fingers more gentle, his body more frail. I make him claw at my back.

In the middle of the night, or maybe it’s morning already, after I finally manage to make him leave, I’m sitting on the cold floor of my bathroom, staining the tiles with blood from the wounds on my back. I try to reach them with a wet cloth. I can’t.

I spray them with cold water in the shower, put on a black hoodie and cry myself to sleep.


	4. You’re So Sensitive, I Am a Machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and I are two oceans apart  
> We’re on Earth to break each other’s hearts

* /Violet/

I adore being in the audience on a drag show almost as much as I adore being onstage.

Okay, the thrill is a little bit different. It’s like excitement that comes in waves, too, but they don’t elevate you; they wash over you instead.

Music pulsates in my veins. I’m in the front row, already having performed, but still dressed up, a little high on poppers and white wine I shared with Max in the dressing room before going onstage. I’m high on feeling happy. I’ve been so ridiculously happy for the last four nights and I’m not even sure why. Being with Max made everything seem easier; it’s like a load has been taken off my shoulders; like somebody’s helping me carry.

Max walks onstage, legs for days, heels reaching heavens, a short leather skirt and a sparkly emerald bra, so confident in her walk something in my chest flutters nervously. I’m trying to deny the fact that it’s my heart.

There’s greetings, salutations and a song beginning. Lights burst in front of my eyes to fall on Max’s face when she’s performing, and she’s doing _I Put a Spell On You._

_I put a spell on you_  
_Because you’re mine_  
_You’re mine_  
_I love you I love you I love you_  
_I love you anyhow_  
_And I don’t care if you don’t want me_  
_I’m yours right now_

Our gazes cross, and Max sends me the tiniest wink.

It does not come easy, like some people described it to me. It’s not a calm, natural progression, it’s not the sensation of suddenly feeling grounded. It feels more like walls suddenly crumbling all around me, like all the people that surround me dying and coming back to life. It’s thunder, not rain. In this one moment in space and time, I understand everything.

Holy shit, holy shit, _holy shit._ I think I might be in love with Max.

I pinch my own arm to make sure I’m not dreaming or tripping. Max is still onstage, moving elegantly, smiling mysteriously, and she’s all mine if I just reach out. I am going to reach out; I am _so_ going to reach out. Because there’s this one person who makes the world seem a little brighter and I don’t get to run from them anymore.

_You know I can’t stand it_  
_You’re runnin’ around_  
_You know better daddy_  
_I can’t stand it ‘cause you put me down_

My heart is beating a thousand times a minute, thoughts in an absolute jumble. I’m pushing people aside, dropping meaningless sorry’s and excuse me’s as I try to leave behind the crowd that’s gathered in front of the stage.

I wait for Max in our dressing room, breathing in perfume and dust, picking on my fake nails. A bottle of water is standing by the mirror and I drink everything that’s in it. I want my head to stop spinning, but I don’t believe that it ever will.

There’s a deafening roar of applause, I can almost feel the walls shake so I hold onto the countertop littered with make-up and hair accessories. A minute or so later, Max enters the room in a cloud of brightness and beauty. Stupid joy overtakes me completely.

“Violet? We were supposed to meet by the bar, love.”

’'I know. Shut up.”

There are means to my end. I’m willing to use them. I’m willing to take Max’s romantic nature and bend it my way. What I want to do in not twisted; it’s pure.

“What is going on, Violet?”

I push Max against the dressing room door and lock it with my free hand. Then I start kissing him, hard, two different lipstick shades smearing into each other. I have to stand on my tiptoes to reach him, but it’s okay. My fingers dive beneath his short leather skirt. All I can feel is pantyhose and some tape.

Fuck.

“Untuck for me, please.”

“Are you… Jason, what’s happening?”

“Please. I’m not fucking around.” I’m not, I’m really not. I want to finally feel what I just understood. I want to feel Max.

He notices the steel look on my face (although my make-up is probably fucked up already), and takes off his shoes, pantyhose, hip pads and underwear. Then, he untucks.

“There. Is this what you wanted?”

I’m going to lose my mind.

See, I’m not ready to say words of love. I don’t know if I’m ever going to be. But this, this is what I’m good at – deeds. I’m good at approaching Max, who’s standing in front of me, revealed and vulnerable; good at dropping to my knees; good at taking his dick in my mouth and feeling it grow.

Max moans, a small, sexy sound that goes through all of my bones, and immediately puts his hand in my hair. Well, my wig, if we’re being accurate. He touches my cheek, gently, wonderingly, while I work my tongue and lips. He’s hard within minute and I’d smirk if I could. I hold onto the backs of Max’s naked thighs while I suck him off, slowly, feeling him fall apart one piece at a time.

This is what I’m good at.

I’m good at swallowing every last drop when he comes, whispering my name, threading fingers through the synthetic hair I paid a hundred bucks for. I look up to see his face, and he’s terrified. He’s in awe, and terrified.

That’s okay. I’m terrified too.

I desperately hope I’m doing the right thing.

*

I am the only soul alive in the world.

My parents are in their bedroom, asleep. The rest of the world is probably asleep, too.

It’s raining.

I can’t sleep. I am glad to be home, I swear I am, but this feeling of unrest and nervous, nauseating butterflies in my stomach just won’t go away. I’m not hungry at all, I can’t silence my running thoughts, I wouldn’t calm down if my life depended on it.

Me and my trusted friend, a sewing machine, get together again. I make a new corset out of pearly white material. It’s gorgeous and perfectly fitted. I spend half a night decorating it with tiny black beads and drops of my own blood after I accidentally sting my finger with a needle.

I spend another night practicing liquid eyeliner. I feel as lonely as it gets. Fame tries to calm me down on Skype, but she only makes me cry and realize how much I miss her. Am I doomed for a lifetime of always missing someone?

I don’t tell her about Max, but she reads it all between the lines; makes a complete picture out of words I won’t say.

I’m living in a world of dreams, but I never sleep myself.

I miss Max so much. I miss how we used to hug before falling asleep, and how he’d kiss my neck in the most subtle way. How he’d call me an angel, a darling, a beauty. How he’d wake up with the most gorgeous smile in the morning, and somehow make me smile too. I can’t believe we’ve only spent a few days together – it seems like a small lifetime.

Damn, I even miss Pearl. I miss his dubstep music and the strawberry smoothie he’d make after we woke up; the way he’d talk, drawing out the vowels, and how he’d never care about being appropriate.

I fall asleep on a third night. In my dream, Pearl is wearing _Max’s Death Becomes Her_ dress, and he’s all covered in blood.

*

It’s New York and you can wear fur in spring.

The subway is crowded, even though it’s the middle of the night. But it’s Saturday, so what did I even expect?

I expected not to be fucking heartbroken as soon as I set my foot in this city. I expected to finally have my shit together, but I don’t, I’m so far from it. I’m in full drag in the subway, for crying out loud. My flimsy lingerie and a loosened corset are covered by a white fur coat, the same one Pearl wore in the first episode, her spring runway.

I am Venus in furs. Venus as a boy. A boy as Venus. The transformation is complete. There is a hole in my black stockings. I ran from my own show as soon as it ended.

Getting on the plane in San Diego, I was sure of everything. My mind was full of Max, of our gentle nights on shared beds, innocent kisses and conversations that held meaning. I was stuck on feelings of love, kindness and certainty. _This is what I want. This is what I need._ Lonely nights at home and then the return to New York shifted my perspective. The further from Max, the less sure I was. It was like the me that blew Max in his dressing room and assured him that this is just the beginning of something beautiful stayed with him, went with him to Miami and then to Wisconsin. Jason is probably still with Max, somewhere, wherever he is.

Violet, Pearl’s Violet, came back to New York.

When Matt didn’t show up at my gig, I freaked out. I wanted anger to channel it into energy to elevate my show, but I was only lost, sad and confused. I marched on, pulled myself through it, soulless and empty. Now I’m on a subway train, fur hugging me, and I’m trying to accept the awful truth.

I’m in love with both of them.

I’m going to tell Pearl that it’s over. We can’t keep doing what we do, this messy friends-with-benefits thing is only going to keep on hurting. Tears are streaming down my face and people are staring, but I’m going to do it tonight.

I’m terrified of losing one of my best friends. But there’s no other way, right?

Twenty minutes later I’m in front of Matt’s building with my phone in my hands, looking like a well-off blonde hooker, calling Fame.

“Hello?”

“I’m in front of Matt’s place. I’m gonna tell him it’s over.”

“No, Vi, don’t.” Kurtis has always been my voice of reason. His words make my stomach sink even lower.

“Why? I have to be fair. I love Max.”

“Are you sure? _Love?_ Are you sure you’re ready to lose Pearl, honey?”

There’s silence on my end. My heels are murdering me, I’m cold and my make-up is running with my tears. The only thing I want right now is to go to bed, but I’ve made a mess I have to clean up first.

“Violet? Are you there? I can come pick you up. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“No, Fame. I love you, but please don’t come.”

I hang up.

_Are you ready to lose Pearl?_

Of course I’m not fucking ready. I love Pearl.

I know it as soon as he opens the door. The air is stale and smoky, he’s wearing the rattiest grey cardigan and glasses. My heart bursts open and I’m in his arms within seconds, tasting blood and my own regret in his kiss.

Maybe I’d rather be miserable with Pearl than happy with Max.

“Why didn’t you come to my gig?”

“I was under the impression that you hate me.”

“I don’t. You’re an idiot.”

I long to be with him. I want him so much I’m shaking. He undresses me with sure, slow movements in the middle of his icy cold apartment, fur, corset, lingerie, stockings, and decorates every inch of my body with kisses.

He starts with my neck, gentle pecks tickling me, getting right to my bloodstream.

“You smell really nice.”

“And you smell like weed.”

“I know, fuck. You’re so beautiful. So lovely. I want you.”

My knees are weak. Matt is trailing his lips across my chest and his nails across my back, but he’s being unusually soft.

“Please make love to me, Jason.”

Love? What?

I grab tight hold of Matt’s arms, because right now, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Max’s smile flashes in my mind, beautiful in Californian morning light, I remember how it felt to have his hands on me when we danced together, but then it all goes away, because it was all just a mirage, just a lie I told myself; _this_ is where I belong. This is what I deserve.

I deserve this boy, tearing off his clothes in front of me. I’m sick of my own passive compliance, so I start helping him as much as I can, start kissing him back with feeling, for real, like this is the first time I genuinely experience the heat between us.

Maybe it is. Maybe it was always just sex until now.

I can feel a completely non-physical kind of pain inside my chest when Matt lays me down on the fur I came here wearing. I’m hard; we’re both hard and it’s becoming dangerous when Matt starts grinding against me, slow, slow rolls of hips that almost make me see white, that drive me wild.

We’re kissing when he suddenly pushes two fingers into me, and I lose all remnants of my ability to breathe. I’m a moaning, whimpering mess, fully in his control, yearning for the feeling of being filled by him.

“You know”, I moan out, “I came here to break it all off with you.”

Matt doesn’t let this information phase him. He doesn’t stop what he’s doing, which is fingering me, even for a heartbeat. “I’m not letting you do that. I’m gonna fight for you. Who do I need to fight, Vi?”

“Nobody, no one, just don’t – don’t stop now, please.”

He doesn’t. He leans in even closer, softly biting my ear, replaces his fingers with his dick in a move too smooth for somebody who is supposed to be high right now, and whispers, “I love you.”

I’m not even surprised. I’ve been expecting that coming here, I came here to prevent this, or maybe, just maybe, I came here to make this real.

I don’t care. I twist my legs around Matt’s back while he’s fucking me, I kiss his temple, I hold his hand. He’s so warm next to me, around me, how could I ever leave him?

I’m wrong, I’m wrong, I’ve always been wrong about the two of us, I’m coming and I feel Pearl coming inside me.

I don’t even say my usual _I fucking hate you, motherfucker, I hate you so much_ , or something of the like. Pearl lies down on the fur next to me and holds me, surrounding me with his arms, trying to take off my wig. When he does, he hides his face in the crook between my neck and shoulder, and we breathe together, slowly, for a long time.

This is what is real now. This is my life. Okay. I can live with it.

“I meant that, you know”, says Matt after what seems like an hour of post-coital gentleness and lazy kisses. “I don’t care anymore. I love you.”

There’s only silence on my end. After a while, Matt realizes I’m not going to respond and starts dressing up: underwear, pants, t-shirt. I scramble to get up from the floor, stop him, grab him by the hand.

“I – Matt, listen. I love you too, I do. I just don’t think I’ll ever love you the way you want me too. But I want to. I want to try.”

“What for? I don’t want your second best, Jason. I’m not gonna finish runner up again.”

He shuts me up, for good. The pain I’ve been feeling in my chest ever since I landed at JFK reaches its peak and almost makes me collapse when Matt runs out, yelling “Don’t fucking follow me”, and shuts the door behind him.

I want to run out after him. I really do. But then again, I’m naked and don’t have any shoes on.

I throw on the fur coat one more time, come dried on my stomach and thighs, and rush to the balcony.

What happens next will never be my real memory. It happens to someone else, in another lifetime, to me in another dimension, maybe. It’s like watching a movie in slow motion.

From the balcony, I see Matt running out of the building. Streetlights cast an eerie, orange glow on everything. I’m screaming his name, desperate and stupid, but he’s not turning back. He reaches the street, not stopping, not slowing down, there’s a loud horn, a screech of tires, and I blink.

One second is enough. Because next second, I see Matt lying limp on the asphalt.

The lights of all the possible colors flash before my eyes as I hold onto the railing. No, no, nonononono.

I’m downstairs in seconds, blind to the fact that I’m in a fur over my naked body with no shoes, blind to all the people gathering around me, around us. Somebody’s calling 911, a car alarm goes off, somebody else is screaming.

It’s me, I realize. I’m the one who’s screaming, as I sit on the asphalt, holding Matt close to me, close, close, even closer, as the fur soaks up with crimson blood.


	5. House On The Cliff / Wreckage On The Rocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you open my chest see that two hearts are beating  
> Fallen out of sync  
> There’s the one I accept and the one I believe in  
> Which one drew you in?

* /Violet/

_“Sit still, you devil!”_

_“I’m trying, but you’re tickling my neck!”_

_I’m sitting in front of a mirror in a hotel room while Pearl’s styling my hair. He insisted on cutting my split ends first, before he even started working the straightener._

_Now, he’s blowdrying beautiful, soft waves that reach my chin and I’m thinking, maybe I don’t need to wear a wig every time I perform. Pearl is completely in his element, expression serene when he switches off the blowdryer and leans in, his head next to mine, to admire his creation in the mirror._

_“I look sickening, Matt, you’re a witch.”_

_“I agree, you look nice.”_

_“Nice? Just nice? You filthy-mouthed whore!” I drag him into my lap to give his butt a healthy smack._

_“I’d kiss you, but I’d ruin your make-up”, he declares. “You’re ready for the show, Miss Chachki.” He grins, and I grin back._

_I let him smear my lipstick just a little bit after all while we’re riding a cab._

I wake up and open my eyes to two seconds of blissful unawareness, followed by two seconds of confusion about a foreign cold bed in a foreign white room, followed by a scream coming right from the depths of my lungs.

*

Kurtis is holding my hand in the back of a car driven by his husband Patrick. Fame looks like he’s been crying all night and day, usually flawless face stained with red blotches, bags underneath his eyes, hair a mess, but clothes still impeccable – tight black jeans, a periwinkle shirt and a leather jacket.

I might as well be wearing a blanket. I don’t care.

Kurtis is holding my hand and I haven’t seen him this worried since – ever. I’ve never seen him this worried.

 _What is there to worry about, Fame? There’s nothing left to worry about,_ I want to say.

My throat is shut close together like I’ve swallowed glue.

“He didn’t suffer at all, Violet. The doctor told me it was all very… quick. It’s a comforting thought, isn’t it? Are you listening to me, Jason?”

I notice the weird way in which Fame’s mouth moves when he speaks. I fixate on that little detail, something out of line.

“Patrick, baby, help me out here. It’s like talking to a fucking painting.”

“Maybe try talking less, honey. Give it some time”, says Patrick calmly, eyes still on the road. Fame hides his own face in his hands, shakes his head.

I try squeezing his knee. “I’m listening”, I croak out, but it feels like somebody’s cutting my stomach open and ripping out my guts. Fame reacts unexpectedly, throwing himself at me, enveloping me in the tightest hug and launching into a wail. I want to hug him back, but my limbs won’t move.

When he quiets down a little, I attempt speaking again.

“I’m gonna need more of those pills.”

*

Kurtis sits me by the kitchen table and sets a glass full of water in front of me. Then he hands me two white pills. I swallow them immediately, draining the glass in two seconds.

Time escapes somewhere beyond my awareness and suddenly I’m sitting in front of a full plate: a piece of salmon with some lemon zest, black rice, a side salad. Fame is slumped in a chair right next to me, his palm on top of my arm.

“Eat something, please. No use starving yourself.”

I pick up a fork and my hands start moving mechanically. I chew on the fish and salad without tasting anything.

“Patrick went to get your stuff”, says Fame. _From Pearl’s apartment,_ he doesn’t say.

“You’re gonna stay with us for a few days, alright?” _Because Pearl’s dead._

“The management is postponing our shows as we speak.” _And cancelling Pearl’s, because he’s dead._

“You can go back to performing when you feel better.” _Now you’re a disaster, because you watched Pearl die._

“Now please, for the love of God, keep on eating.”

I take a few more bites, feeling like a caged animal with Fame watching me carefully all the time.

“Can I get the pills now?” I ask, setting down the cutlery. Kurtis stares at me like my mental case is more serious than he anticipated.

“Jason, darling. I gave you pills before, as soon as we came here, remember? They should start working any minute.”

“I know. I mean the whole bottle.”

“Oh. No, love, I can’t do that.”

“Why? What if I wake up in the middle of the night and I need them?”

Fame shields himself from my insanity with arms folded on his chest. “Then wake me up and ask me.”

“You’re not my fucking mother, Kurtis.”

“No. But right now, I’m responsible for you, and in the state you’re in, I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you. So please stop. I don’t need any more dead friends.”

Fame’s steel, unmoved eyes and his words would be like a bullet to the heart, but luckily I can feel the Xanax in my blood doing its job already.

Oh, and I have no heart.

“Fame?” I whine in a small voice. “Please just take me to bed.”

I feel him caressing my hair and hear him whispering softly to me until I fall asleep.

*

When I wake up, it feels less like a movie I’m watching.

It feels less and less and less okay with every passing second I spend lying flat on my back, staring at the ceiling.

In span of two or three minutes, it becomes so painful I can’t even breathe.

I crawl out of bed on all fours and stay on the floor for a while, forcing air into my lungs before I manage to stand up. I hold onto the walls while I walk out of the bedroom and into the hallway.

How much time has passed since I fell asleep? I have no idea, I don’t want to know, I don’t need to. I just want more Xanax to go back to sleep.

The night has passed and it’s completely bright now. The house is eerily quiet and I soon find out why.

Fame isn’t home. Neither is her husband. I call out their names in a voice too weak for anybody to hear. I see their empty bedroom, a tidy made-up bed, open curtains.

The keeper of my pills has abandoned me.

I fight the urge to sit down on the floor, writhe and cry. In a desperate attempt, I decide to find my phone, because I have no idea where that is either, and I’ll never find the bottle of Xanax on my own.

There’s a black bag in the kitchen, left on one of the chairs. It’s slightly open to reveal white fabric spilling out. Before I even approach, I know what I’m going to find. The horrible sinking feeling in my empty stomach tells me exactly what to expect.

 _Thump, thump._ What’s the awful noise? Oh yeah, it’s my stupid heart, still going.

I open the bag and let the fabric spill to the floor.

Pearl’s formerly white fur coat is now tainted, soiled, destroyed. It’s stained jet black like asphalt and dark crimson like blood. It smells like dry come, old sweat and so many, many mistakes.

My stomach turns so fast I barely make it to the kitchen sink before I’m retching. The taste of acid fills my mouth, involuntary tears streaming from my eyes, but it’s okay. I deserve all of this, and more.

There’s a half-empty bottle of NyQuil on the kitchen counter, so I drink the rest of it, trying to get rid of the ratched taste from my mouth and the dull pain tearing up my chest. Then I take the soiled fur and myself back to bed in Fame’s guest bedroom.

Me and the fur try to cry ourselves to sleep by remembering all the good times we’ve had together. How we could be young, work hard, play hard, love and hate, and how we can’t anymore.

Hours pass slowly, like torture.

I’m still unable to cry.

* /Max/

The first thing that hits me when I enter Miss Fame’s house is the smell. It’s fresh and airy, but artificial at the same time, like it’s fighting hard to cover up something dead, something dying.

“Max, sweetie. Stop for a second, will you please?” Kurtis extends a hand to stop me from running looking for Jason immediately. This is probably the first time I’m seeing Fame looking this bad. His face, chiseled by the gods, is saggy and grey from lack of decent sleep. His hair seems to be in need of a good conditioner, his cashmere sweater has a tiny hole on its sleeve. When he picked me up at the airport, we didn’t say a word to each other, we just stood in a silent hug for long minutes before he started to shake and cry into the crook of my neck. “He’s – I don’t want you to get your hopes up. You won’t have a heart-to-heart with Jason for a while yet, alright? I’m doing my best, but I’m not a miracle worker. He’s not talking to me.”

“Not talking? What do you mean, like – not at all?”

“He responds to direct questions. Mostly that.” Kurtis rubs his temple, blinking hard. “I need to get some fucking sleep. You’re gonna be okay, right? I’m sorry. Jason is in the guest bedroom over there. Asleep, hopefully.” He pats my arm and leaves me in the hallway as I breathe in the sterile smell of the air.

The guest bedroom door is unlocked. The curtains are drawn tight, not letting in much daylight, so everything is dimmed, blurry, silent.

If I thought my heart broke when I’ve heard about Pearl’s death, I was stupid. I was stupid, because what I see in that guest bedroom, this is how heartbreak really feels like. It’s ugly. It’s whimpering. It chokes me.

The covers are messy, but clean. Jason, pale as winter snow, is asleep, but seemingly restless, shaking at irregular intervals, making small, sudden movements. He’s curled in a fetal position around a large piece of white fabric that looks like a dirty fur coat.

This part, I don’t understand.

The only thing I want, the only thing I’ve wanted ever since I’ve heard the news, was to hold Jason tight and don’t let him go. I wanted to protect him from this horrendous experience, I wanted to be his guide through life and death, through good and bad. As I sit on the edge of his bed, watching his skinny chest rise and then fall, I realize that I can’t. This is not about what I want anymore.

It never should’ve been. I was a selfish, horrible egoist.

I touch Jason’s leg through the duvet ever so slightly, and he stirs. As I remove my hand, he raises up hastily, looking around in unease before setting his dark, tormented eyes at me.

There’s nothing but pain and emptiness in them. There’s nothing but a void that’s trying to swallow me whole, again, and I’m balancing on the edge, ready to tip over.

“Max?”

Jason reaches for me. I jump into the void headfirst.

I perform a quick mental assessment of the situation. What I’ve lost was never mine in the first place. It was fragile, fleeting, barely even there. It was a thinly-veiled white lie.

Violet was lipstick smeared on sheets, and I was the one to clean the sheets in the morning. Violet was the scent of Pearl’s cologne sometimes, and I was okay with that. What Violet and I had was a few words whispered between pillows and a few moans I managed to force out of him.

I was stupid to think I could ever domesticate Violet. As I’m holding him, skin and bones, he feels further from me than ever before.

* /Violet/

I was loved once.

I didn’t know that then, but I was.

Affection was shown to me. I was adored, caressed, kissed, made love to.

I was taken care of. I had band-aids put on my bleeding heels, I had kisses laid upon my skin, swollen and madly red from tight corsetting.

I had my hair done by talented hands in smoky dressing rooms.

I was taken out. Danced with. Having borrowed jackets, shared food, shared blunts.

I was celebrated with, and celebrated by.

I provoked jealousy, bitterness and fury, but also kindness and gentleness.

It was never a feeling anyone would write poetry about. It was not measured in the amount of red roses on my dresser, wordly declarations or dramatic gestures, but it was a real feeling, and it was mine. It was ours.

I was loved once, and I loved in return.

There’s nothing more to say.

Kurtis finds me in an empty bathtub at two in the morning, when I’m playing with a razor blade with numb, bleeding hands.

*

I am so, so alone.

Fame hides all the razors, scissors and knives. They all take shifts watching over me, making sure I eat, drink water, shower, sleep, and then repeat.

Nights and days melt into one. I sleep, dragged out, wrapped in the dirty coat I won’t let anybody touch.

I break a glass and with a sharp piece I draw angry, red marks on my thighs, where nobody can see.

I’m breathing, still, unfortunately.

*  
I know where they’re taking me.

Nobody says a word in my presence anymore, not unless it’s directed at me and it’s either encouragement or concern about me not eating enough. Max keeps on sleeping in my bed and he’s quick to give me my pills if I stir awake at night.

I take my pills, I shut up, I forget my pain.

I hate myself for feeling that pain in the first place.

It’s early morning and they give me some fresh clothes to wear. A pair of jeans and a beige t-shirt to replace my pajamas, my old denim jacket to keep me from cold. Later, in the living room, I witness Fame and Patrick kiss goodbye in a way I find indecent, but yet I can’t stop staring. They make my heart twist in a way that makes me sick. I think I can almost feel that.

Max takes my hand and guides me to the car. I let myself be guided, pushed, pulled, hugged and touched. Everything is hazy and blurry at the edges.

Kurtis and Patrick pack three suitcases into the trunk, and off we go.

We stop at the airport and I know. I know where we’re going.

I take a short look at the destination on the boarding pass Fame presses into my hand and I want to throw up, but I have to hold down my pills. I’ve know this from the moment they woke me up.

I’m not telling anyone, but I know we’re going to a funeral.


	6. The Things We’ve Lost In the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even though we sleep together we’re alone  
> And I find it hard to get out of bed

* /Max/

I never loved Florida.

The appeal of the state just never got to me. The obnoxious warmth, humidity, constant sunshine that makes wearing black clothes hard to bear. It’s a place to spend your retirement comfortably, sure, but not one I’d love to live in.

After this experience, I’m sure I’d like Florida even less.

Jason is sleepwalking through the airport with his arm hooked under mine. Fame is in boy, fixing black eye pencil while we wait to pick up our luggage. A kid runs next to us, slips on the smooth floor, lands on their face. A woman yells. The A/C is making me shiver.

Everything is ridiculous.

We spend a few hours on the bus to Pearl’s hometown. Well, maybe hometown is a wrong word: it’s just a place where he was born, where his parents live. He never belonged here. He belonged with Chicago’s vibrant, lively flow; with New York’s glamour and style; with LA’s smell of success.

He never belonged in this little village of approaching death.

Jason sits next to Fame on the bus, so I get two seats for myself and I’m trying to sleep. The bus is gliding through roads in the darkness, swaying slightly. I lean against the cold pane of window glass and my head is pounding, painful, heavy and angry. The sleep doesn’t come, so after my eyes get used to the shadows, I’m staring at Kurtis and Jason, asleep across the aisle. Jason’s head is resting on Fame’s shoulder, his hair covering his face, soft curls falling into his open mouth.

Life gets to break people that don’t deserve to be broken.

We arrive at the hotel at 5 in the morning, the sunrise filthy pink and purple in the sky, and a person who I see impatiently pacing all around the lobby turns around to greet us.

Looking at Trixie, usually pink, bright and overdone, now in a black suit jacket and with a grim expression, feels just plain wrong. I never wanted to live to see the day when Brian Firkus wears a suit jacket. I’m sure he would never even wear one for his own wedding.

“I’m so glad you guys are here”, he says, falling into Fame’s hug while I struggle not to break into tears. Trixie steps carefully around Jason and then tries to say something, hugs him too, but Jason does not reciprocate. When he finally puts his arms around me, he whispers in my ear, “Is everything okay?”

How would it be, Trixie?

I nod. “We’re dealing.” We’re doing the best we can, even though there’s not much to be done anymore.

When we pick up our room keys, Trixie waiting by the reception desk with us, I hear Violet’s strained, quiet voice. “Is Katya here?”

“Yeah, yeah, upstairs in our room. I’ll take you.” Trixie starts leading Jason towards the elevators. Fame and I grab our room keys and the luggage.

The elevator ride seven floors up goes by in deafening silence. I’ve got half a mind to break into a song, but the only one I can think of is _Empty Chairs at Empty Tables._

Yeah, maybe not tonight.

Katya looks like he hasn’t slept for days. Well, we probably all do. His eyes are rimmed red when he notices our arrival and jumps from where he’s been lying on the bed, biting his nails, to greet us. Violet is the one he runs straight to.

I expect another unreciprocated embrace, but this one’s different. Maybe it’s the Xanax wearing off, maybe it’s Katya’s famous magic, but Jason melts into the embrace, holding onto Katya’s shirt like it’s his last resort, his lifeline, and Katya doesn’t seem startled. He starts caressing Jason’s back and hair while Jason breaks into tears.

He’s crying for the first time since it all happened. “We’re gonna need more Xanax”, I quietly tell Fame who’s standing next to me, stopped short by the unfolding events.

“I can see that.”

*

Jason is taking a nap in our hotel room. We have two more hours before we need to leave for the service, so we all sit down on the floor of Trixie’s room to talk everything out.

As we find out soon enough, there’s not that much to talk about.

“Ginger really wanted to come, but didn’t make the plane reservation on time. And Kim Chi is picking up Pearl’s Chicago friends at the airport”, says Trixie, looking at the pattern on the carpet like it’s the most fascinating thing in existence.

“And I had a call from Willam. He’s bringing Alaska and Courtney, they’re running a bit late”, says Katya, the carpet apparently engaging him as well.

All of this information changes absolutely nothing. I remember when we’ve all been a sisterhood, a brotherhood, a team, but now there’s a huge gaping hole in our little structure and we have no idea how to fix it. I have no one to turn to.

“Excuse me - sorry for a second”, murmurs Katya before scrambling to his feet and disappearing in the bathroom. Trixie lasts for exactly two full silent minutes and gets up as well. He knocks on the bathroom door and they open just a bit to let him in.

It’s fifteen minutes of them talking in muffled voices while Fame and I sit on the floor, both wallowing in our own misery, not speaking to each other.

When Katya and Trixie leave the bathroom, they’re holding hands, and maybe it’s the first good, pure thing I’ve seen in a long while.

* /Violet/

I’m too dragged out on Xanax to remember much of the funeral.

We huddle in the back rows, way behind Matt’s family, his first and seconds cousins, his friends from high school, his neighbors too, probably. Somebody gives a speech that holds no meaning to me. Someone is crying very loudly.

I haven’t been to a funeral since I was a kid, I realize.

Katya is wearing dark sunglasses, holding Trixie in his arms, and Trixie is weeping all the time. I’m being held up straight by Max on my right and Fame on my left. I’m holding onto Fame’s hand for dear life, until he hisses out of pain and I grab onto Max and don’t let go.

Somebody gives me a bouquet of snow white roses and I don’t feel nothing, not a thing, when I throw them on Matt’s coffin before it’s buried. This is a mistake. I shouldn’t even be here.

*

I’ve had too much wine, yet it’s still not enough. I’m draining one glass after another, laughing silently, failing to comprehend the point of this entire event, of the food and drinks surrounding us, of people gathered to celebrate each other’s misery. I know I haven’t had enough to drink because I still notice things, like Max shrugging me off when I try to take his hand, like Kim Chi and Jake, Pearl’s friend from New York, eye-fucking above a plate of cold cuts, or like Willam and Courtney inexplicably arriving in drag, with Alaska looking awkward and weird as a boy between the two of them.

I haven’t had enough because I can’t stop seeing the image of fresh soil falling upon a casket covered in white flowers.

I stuff my mouth with some cheese and grab another glass of white wine after I notice Kurtis leaving for the bathroom. The corridor leading there is dark and empty, the noises of the living room getting quieter and less grating with every step I take. The bathroom door is slightly open like it’s been waiting for me. The room smells of lavender and Fame is washing his hands. He stops.

He looks at his face in the mirror. He sees me. “What are you doing here, Violet?”

“Nothing”. I make sure to lock the door behind me before I crowd Fame by the sink. I have no idea what’s happening in my head anymore when I forcefully grab his hand, still wet, place it on my hip and climb to my toes to kiss him on the lips, hard. He opens his mouth, taken aback, probably, and I use it to deepen the kiss, forcing my wine-drenched tongue between his lips, using my teeth for extra leverage.

Here’s the thing about Fame: he likes to kiss and don’t tell.

But not this time. I can feel him kissing me back just for a second or two. Maybe not at all; maybe it’s all in my imagination and in my empty, stupid head. Maybe all the pills I’ve been given are finally getting to me.

Maybe I just want to forget everything.

Fame pulls away and pushes me. I lose balance and bounce on my feet.

“What the hell, Jason? You’re drunk.” Kurtis is mad, shocked and absolutely disgusted with my behavior, his face pale with redness standing out on his cheeks. He rakes his fingers through his hair. He’s worried. He’s worried because of me, and he shouldn’t. I can handle.

“So what?”

“So - nothing, just stay here for a second, okay? Please. I’ll be back.” He rushes out of the bathroom, leaving me with my miserable reflection in the mirror. It’s hard to recognize this boy in a black shirt, biting his lip, traces of old black nail polish still on his nails. All I can see is someone who used to rule the world, but has since given up. Giving up is not a good look on him.

I don’t plan on waiting for Fame. I leave the bathroom almost immediately, my own reflection making me sick, but I don’t come back to the living room either. Following the scent I’ll recognize anywhere, I find the balcony.

Willam is leaning on the railing, his asymmetric black dress whipping around in the wind, the tip of his blunt glowing red hot in the dim evening lights.

“Violet. Care to join me?”

I take him up on the offer, reaching for the blunt he’s handing to me, the smoke hitting my lungs just right, the world becoming blurry around the edges. As I release the smoke, Willam’s long blond hair tickles my face slightly and I remember the question I wanted to ask before.

“Why are you and Courtney in drag?”

“Because Pearl was a drag queen.” Willam’s response is immediate, short and to the point.

“But, like… Why?”

He intercepts the blunt and takes a long drag before passing it back. “Look, Court and I are idiots. It’s our kind of tribute to Pearl, don’t mind it. We thought about what we’d wear if we could have Pearl see us for the last time, and we both figured - drag. This”, Willam pulls on the hem of his dress, “is a funeral-appropriate compromise. Well, close to that at least.”

We smoke in silence for a while. I can feel my head clearing, similar to that moment when I saw Katya and cried in his arms. That felt liberating. Heavenly, almost. The best I’ve felt in the last few days, and that’s because my meds were wearing off. The light is pouring from the inside through the curtains and I can barely hear people talking, eating, drinking, walking around in heels.

“Can I tell you something?” questions Willam.

“I think you’re going to anyway.”

“True that”, he laughs. “But you seem to be under special care tonight, so I’m not sure I’m allowed to.”

I wait for Willam to speak his mind, looking into his eyes. They’re painted black and blue like a bruise, that kind of bruise you get on your thigh after a great, satisfying fuck. His lips are red and prominent, and I remember, through the fog, those lips upon Matt’s in a dirty bar.

“Don’t let them, Violet. Don’t let them follow you around like you’re some kind of sick puppy and feed you pills. I know they want the best for you and all that shit, but you can do this on your own.” He swallows, then takes the last drag of the blunt and puts it out beneath his heel. “I also realize - I can’t _know_ that, but I’m pretty damn sure - I realize how much Pearl meant to you, but this is life, and the funny thing about it is, that death is a part of it.” _Just fucking keep on breathing._ “We go on. Don’t let this fuck you up.” He pats my arm gently, first moving my hair out of the way. “You’re too good and too young to be fucked up by this.”

There are no more medications left in my bloodstream. Willam is right, each and every word he said, but he doesn’t know one thing. He doesn’t know about the pain, a very non-physical kind of pain, that would be tearing me up inside right now if it hadn’t been for the marijuana.

But it’s okay. He doesn’t have to know. “Hey Willam?”

“Yeah?” He’s about to get back inside the house. I might as well come with.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime, bitch. You got my number.”

*

They said he was a brave soul. A trailblazer. An inspiration.

He was a nerdy stoner who liked to wear thick glasses and feminine underwear. He listened to his club music always a bit too loud, had an ashtray in every room of his apartment, even though he smoked only at the balcony, and was pretty partial to the color white.

He was an artist who used his face and body as a canvas. He made silly faces, delicious grilled cheese sandwiches and, somehow, always knew how to calm me down.

He was my best friend for a time that was stupidly cut way too short by stupid, stupid life.

“I loved him so much”, I cry into Max’s black shirt at night in our tiny hotel room.

“I know”, says Max, caressing my hair. “I know, darling. Just try to sleep now.”

*

I leave the room while Max is in the shower and stumble downstairs in sweatpants and a hoodie to find a convenience store. It’s six AM, so I don’t expect to meet a living soul, but I notice a pair sitting on a leather sofa in the lobby.

It’s Katya and Trixie, both tired and defeated, shoulders slumped, complexions pale. They’re face to face, holding hands. Trixie is saying something calmly and Katya is nodding, looking down, until Trixie tips the other man’s chin up and starts laying gentle kisses on his face: forehead, nose, then lips. It’s sweet and chaste until Katya leans into it. I watch them kiss for a while, remaining in the shadows myself.

Did I even know they had a thing? Did I at least suspect that? Do I even care?

Why do they have each other when I’ve been left alone?

When I approach them, they’re still holding hands.

“Violet! What are you doing here?” Trixie gets up to hug me. Katya can’t even speak when he kisses my cheek and I can feel his entire wiry body shaking.

“I’m looking for a convenience store. What are you guys doing? Are you leaving?”

It’s pretty obvious, considering the two suitcases standing right here next to them.

“We have a flight to Boston. Going to stay there for a while.” Trixie gives my arm a gentle squeeze.

“We’ll see you soon, right? Max told me about - you know what, nevermind”, he decides not to finish his thought after he notices Katya shaking his head vigorously. I can see that too. I’m standing right here. “Anyway, you’ve got both our numbers, so call. Anytime, alright?”

Another pat on the back, another kiss on the cheek. “Our cab’s here, Bri”, says Katya. Who the fuck is “Bri”? Trixie grabs a handle of one of their suitcases, smiles weakly and waves. Katya hugs me with one arm, “Seriously, anytime. Day, night, call me, okay?”, he tells me, and I’m reminded how blue his eyes have always been. “Hold on, Violet.”

I watch them leave the hotel hand in hand, load their stuff into the cab and leave. Together.

I find a convenience store and buy a pack of razors.

*

_It was the night Drag Race finished filming that Pearl and I first slept together._

_We were exhausted, physically and mentally, but at the same time on a high from being on the verge of a completely new chapter in our lives opening._

_We were not sequestered to our rooms anymore, so I just said “Drinks in my room?” to Matt, to which he responded “Hells yeah”, or something like that._

_As soon as I closed the door behind us we went at it like animals, in silent understanding, reading each other’s needs in a blink of an eye. We were both so fucking horny we didn’t care for softness, gentleness and gestures; we were both in it to get off._

_And we did; we did so well I was kind of stunned._

_We ended up in my bed in a mess of dirty sheets and discarded clothes, Pearl itching for a smoke already, but first he said, “You’re really good at this, you know.”_

_“Of course I know, bitch, did you question my abilities?”_

_He was scratching his head with one hand and tapping on my naked arm with the other one. “No, I guess I didn’t”, he said, dragging his words out like always, “I’m just having trouble wrapping my head around all of this, you know.”_

_“There’s always time for a repeat if you’re down for that, to wrap your head around it better.”_

_“Sure.”_

_Funny how we consider some things meaningless before we’re slapped in the face with their horrible, heartwrecking loss._

*

Max is still asleep when I quietly sneak into the bathroom. The blade blings silver against the thin, pale skin of my wrist, purple blood pulsing underneath.

I want to see that blood turn red so bad.

I move the blade from my wrist, up, closer to the elbow. My skin is soft. The blade is sharp when I breathe in, draw the line, breathe out. Drops of red blood appear immediately and I almost want to laugh. With my right index finger, I smear the blood, tease the cut. I’m biting my lower lip, hard, before I make another vertical cut.

“Why are you doing this?”

Max’s voice comes unexpected and violent from behind my back, makes me jump, drop the bloody blade that immediately stains the floor; makes me gasp.

There are consequences to my actions. I’ve learned that the hard way. Not all of them are positive.

I don’t say anything. I can’t. Max crowds me against the bathroom sink (a flashback of me doing a similar thing to Fame last night makes me feel like throwing up). There’s fury in his eyes; fury and confusion and pain. He gently takes my face in both of his hands.

“Please stop, darling. I’m begging you. Stop.”

All of my strength abandons me on the spot. I rest my forehead on Max’s shoulder, grabbing for his clothes, anything to hold onto, probably bleeding on him in the process, struggling to breathe, cry, speak, die already. “I’m so scared. So, so scared. Help me.”

“I’m trying. I’m trying.”

Maybe he is. Maybe I’m not letting him.

We leave the red-stained razor on the floor, like a crime scene, and leave the hotel to never ever come back.

*

“I don’t think he can make it on his own, Max.”

I hear Fame’s hushed voice from behind the ajar door.

The bed I’m sleeping in is cold and smells like Bourjois blush. Sheets are ashy pink and I realize I’m in Fame’s guest bedroom again. I think it’s still night out.

“Jason’s mother thinks he might need to stay in a hospital for a while.”

“Kurtis, you can’t be serious.”

“It’s not our call to make. He should at least go back to Atlanta. As much as I love Jason, I don’t have the time and abilities to keep taking care of him.”

Shuffling feet, clinking glasses, a deep sigh.

“I’m gonna take him to Hudson tomorrow. Just for a week. Then, you and his parents can do whatever you want. But I need this one week.”

“You do. But does Jason?”

Someone, probably Fame, leaves the adjacent room and there are no more voices to be overheard. Only before I fall back into my shallow sleep, I realize Max is lying right next to me, wrapped around my back like in our better days.

I don’t feel anything.


	7. Empty Sighs and Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If love is a way out, then please let me in  
> don’t start, darling  
> don’t you turn my nightmares into dreams again.

* /Violet/

The view behind the car window changes too fast, yet not at all, and Max is a bad driver.

He keeps slowing down randomly, _I think I saw a hedgehog on the road, Jason, I don’t wanna run it over_ , and then picking up the pace in a way that pushes me into the passenger’s seat with force.

So I’m an object again. Max is driving me to Hudson like I’m luggage or an unruly pet that needs to be watched over 24/7. Fame is done with me, Fame is so done with me and after that incident in a bathroom I can’t blame him; I wasn’t going to blame him in the first place. He’s got a life going on for him, he’s not the one who should suffer, he’s the one who gets to move on.

I’m still wondering why Max refuses to move on as well. The answer is on the back of my brain, rattling somewhere, but reaching for it takes way too much effort.

The one feeling that overwhelms me, though, is emptiness. My head is heavy like clouds have gathered inside, and I sleep through more than half of the road to Max’s hometown. He watchfully turns down the music every time I drift off, so I start pretending I do, because I’m getting kinda tired of the showtunes.

“Max?”

“Yes, darling?”

“How much further?”

“Like an hour? An hour and a half, maybe, and we look for a motel for the night.”

“Why don’t you have GPS?”

“It broke.”

I can’t even force myself to hate the motel room, its bathroom with a gross shower curtain and the small TV that plays music videos while Max goes to take a shower. The only thing I can force myself to do is get up from the bed, switch the sound in the TV off, and throw myself back on the bed, grabbing two blankets to cover my entire body, head included.

Next day is just the same, the two of us and the open road, except the showtunes don’t make a comeback and I steal the motel blanket to make myself a snuggie.

*

It feels like weeks I spend at Max’s apartment, although it’s probably not that long.

It’s just two rooms and like a trap for me. I waste my time finding new places in which I could curl up under a blanket, basically just moving from the couch to the bed, detouring to the bathroom from time to time. Max feeds his iguana, then he feeds me. We browse Netflix and watch movies and shows deep into the night, which often ends with me asleep in Max’s lap, feeling his big, sure hands moving slowly through strands of my hair.

Anytime he leaves to do shopping, he locks me in. One day I don’t let him and have him take me along. I regret that decision quickly, right after I have a short, teary breakdown in the middle of the dairy section of a local Walmart. Max has two or three shows in a local club. He takes me there with him, too, making sure one of his friends is always next to me, watching over like a guardian that talks a lot and doesn’t let me drink more than one glass of alcohol.

Max brings me pills. He gives me two every morning and says he trusts me to be responsible with them. I am being very responsible. I’m still cutting, deeper and deeper into my thighs, not letting the scars heal.

We don’t talk much. He asks me questions, I give one-word answers.

Max sews dresses and rhinestones bras in the evenings while I check how close to a candle I can hold my fingers before getting burned.

It rains a lot.

We fall asleep in one bed, Max kissing me goodnight in my hair or on the forehead. Sometimes I wake up to him holding me unconsciously. Once I wake up to him crying, sitting on the floor by the bed and shaking, choking on tears and trying to dry them with the hem of a sweater.

I could talk to him. I could get up and tell him it’s going to be okay, someday, eventually, maybe. I could, if I believed that.

I could lie. I’ve lied to Max before. Or have I?

I don’t get up. I don’t move, I close my eyes quickly so that he doesn’t notice that I’m even awake. He’s been so good to me, not giving himself room to be sad at all.

He deserves to have his own breakdown.

*

I have had enough.

One night, when Max is out by himself, I turn on the music as loud as possible. I don’t even care that much what is playing, I just want the feeling of beats vibrating in my blood, of my ears hurting, of how it’s like not to hear yourself scream.

I last for five minutes, lying flat on my back on the floor, my senses slowly waking up, until I turn the volume down. It’s dark outside when I open the window just to feel the breeze on my skin. I breathe in the air, damn it, the world is so beautiful, so tragic and so breathtaking. Hysterical laughter bubbles on my tongue and tears roll down my cheeks as I try to understand the feeling, but it’s too incomprehensible, too foreign, too scary.

When Max comes back, I’m ready. I’ve never been more ready.

“Hey, girl. I bought some fruit and yogurt, and I got you aloe water and myself some peanut – Jason, what – what are you – ”

A blanket I’ve been covered in falls to the floor, revealing the fact that there’s absolutely nothing underneath. My body used to be flawless, perfect, awe-inspiring. I used to wear the marks left by corsetting like battle scars. Now, it’s stained with marks that don’t hold the same value. Now, the scars I’m wearing are only there to bring me shame.

Whatever. Max won’t care.

It’s like a beat of my favorite song when it takes me just two steps to reach him, bring him close to me, drag him into a kiss that’s scolding hot and unexpected, feel his comforting hands resting on my hips and then trailing lower, trying to lift me up. His self-control crumbles immediately when he backs me against the bed, forcing me to lay down, hovering over me, our lips still connected, and I knew this would happen this way. This is no surprise.

I take back control. I make the night unravel, and it will do exactly as I want.

Forcing Max’s pants and underwear down, I can feel his hardness pressing against my crotch already. He takes a sharp breath at the contact, eyes rolling like he’s about to lose it, and I know he is. I know this is the moment he’s been waiting for, and he earned it. Good things come to those who wait.

I urge him closer and closer, squirming underneath him, the fabric of his t-shirt the only thing separating me from the heat of his skin.

Max is a good person. A good friend. Max loves me, or he did, once. When did I start caring about these things anyway?

“Come on already, Max, please.”

“But are you – I need to get – wait, Jason.”

“No, I’m ready. I got ready while you were out. Please. I want you”, I add, slowly dragging my fingers down his jaw, looking into his eyes. That seems to seal the deal.

“Okay, okay okay okay”, he dives down to kiss me, so I find the naked skin of his back underneath the t-shirt and I hold on, bracing myself for the pain when he enters me.

And the pain is there. It’s burning, it’s blinding me, it’s making me bite my tongue until I can taste blood. But at least it’s some kind of a feeling.

I lied. I lied, I lied, I lied. But I don’t care, as long as I get to keep Max close, nails drawn into his skin while he fucks me, slow at first, then picking up pace. The first moan slips past my mouth, and even I have to admit it sounds utterly wrong. The noise causes Max to stop, bring his face up from the crook of my neck and look at me, while I’m trying to smooth out the pain from my features, failing miserably.

“What the _fuck._ ” He angers, quickly pulling out, and I’m not sure how am I supposed to react. All at once I feel relieved, hollowed, empty and so, so mad at him, but then the shame settles. Max scrambles out of bed, still hard, and in a desperate move, I cover my eyes not to look.

I wanted to feel something. I do now. I’ve never felt so humiliated, ever.

“What were you trying to achieve?! I just can’t – you should get help, Jason.” I can hear footsteps and the bathroom door slam before I dare to look at the empty room, the wide open window and my hands, wet.

I start crying.

* /Max/

_If you steal, steal millions._   
_If you love, love a princess._

My grandma used to tell me that when I was still a kid, bright-eyed, always positive, excited for each new day. My grandma didn’t know I will love a princess someday, and neither did I. We had no idea the princess is going to have such sharp claws, pointy teeth and a devilish tongue. We had no idea the princess is going to use these weapons to destroy herself.

I look at Jason deserted on the bed, swallowing tears, ashamed, and I still love him so, so much. This is not something that just stops. I love him with his matted, flat hair, wrists covered in healing cuts, I love him broken and hurting and disillusioned. I will never stop.

Maybe there’s an alternate universe where we’re together. Somewhere where we’re happy, where Pearl never died, where I won the fight for Violet’s heart fair and square. Maybe in another dimension, my princess is also my queen and I don’t have to battle a shadow to find my way inside her heart. Maybe in another universe, because this is definitely not happening in this one.

Pearl is now the immortal one.

The Kurt Cobain of drag. The Heath Ledger of female impersonation. The Amy Winehouse of RuPaul’s Drag Race alumni.

In Jason’s mind, Pearl is the perfect one; the one whose flaws have all been absolved through death.

Pearl is the one I will never be able to compete with anymore.

I try looking at it from all the possible angles, but the picture is always the same.

I just can’t win.

I can recall the exact moment from which everything went downhill.

I remember seeing Violet in the workroom, pretty in purple, I remember hearing her talk for the first time, us shaking hands, and she said my name. Somehow I felt starstruck for this baby drag queen I have never even heard of, until I realized I’m not actually starstruck; it was love at first sight that obviously never happened in real life, that obviously was just something from fairytales and rom-coms for desperate housewives.

As long as I was in the competition, I was okay. I had other things to focus my energy on. Only when I got out, it was a slippery slope from which I’ve finally slid down: from breaking up with Daniel, through almost going bankrupt, my career at a standstill, all the way until this place, realizing that every step I’ve made has lead me to this very moment, with Violet Chachki naked in my bed and me, somehow managing to despise the situation.

“Jason.”

He acknowledges me with a teary, but unfaltering stare.

“Nothing happened. Stop crying, and let’s just go to sleep.”

The bed screeches slightly when he turns away from me.

* /Violet/

It’s like a hand of an invisible person that reaches for me in the dead of the night, helps me put some clothes on, guides me out of Max’s bedroom and into the streets. That invisible person calls a cab, but first makes sure that I walk a block away so that Max doesn’t find me if he wakes up.

The cab driver asks where I want to go.

“Where people go to dance in this town.”

The driver knows. He takes me there. The street is loud, full of young people dressed in colors, drunk and giggly. I hit a liquor store first. My invisible friend is alive, warm, reckless and grinning when he hands me a bottle of sparkly champagne like there’s something to celebrate. We laugh together, pay for the purchase and drink it, sitting on the curb. The only thing missing is the smoke from the cigarette my friend should be smoking, and his mouth whispering dirty nothings into my ear.

My invisible friend and I enter the club next, without even getting carded at the entrance. The beat flows through me, alcohol pleasantly bubbling in my veins, making me want to dance. The crowd of sweaty bodies hugs me tightly, colorful lights flashing before my eyes, but the only person that matters is my invisible friend, his arms around my waist which I can almost feel, little teasing kisses to my neck and earlobe that would send me into oblivion.

We dance. We dance like we don’t care, because we don’t, there’s nothing left for us to care about anymore, no worries, no money to earn or spend, no more shows to win or lose, no more beautiful faces to fall for and no more hands to touch us. We’ve been thrown in the deep water without having been shown how to swim, we’ve floated for a while and now we’re drowning and sometimes it hurts, but other times it’s completely painless.

We dance until the music changes, and a sharp arrow of pain hits me right in the chest.

_And then she’d say, it’s okay, I got lost on the way_   
_But I’m a supergirl, and supergirls don’t cry_

My invisible dead friend leaves me in the middle of the dancefloor without a warning. Now it’s just Violet, alone among so many people, trying not to get stepped on. No, it’s not even Violet, it’s Jason; drunk, desperate and pathetic, lonely Jason, and his chest hurts so much he can’t breathe. I scream, but no sound comes out. The music deafens me.

_She’d shout down the line, tell me she’s got no more time_   
_Cause she’s a supergirl, and supergirls don’t cry_   
_Then she’d scream in my face, tell me to leave, leave this place_   
_Cause she’s a supergirl, and supergirls just fly_

I sit down on the floor, hoping that some miracle will allow me to calm myself down or maybe just die, but that doesn’t happen. What happens is people acquiring sudden interest in me, looking into my face, yelling _what’s going on, are you alright_ , reaching to help me up, reaching to save me from my own darkness, until I manage to get up myself, push them away, and attempt to escape from the club.

This time there’s no hand to guide me out of the mass of people. This time it’s just me, alone in the back of an Uber, messing up Max’s address, having to walk three blocks to finally find the door of his building.

The door is unlocked like I left It. I hope there are no thieves in the neighborhood. Max’s little apartment is drowning in silence and the smell of slightly burned popcorn from last night lingers.

Max is still asleep, covers kicked away during our unfortunate encounter before. I could still change back into my pajamas, crawl back into bed quietly, be Max’s good little girl again. The only problem is, I’m not Max’s good little girl. I never was. Max’s perfect princess he loved so much wasn’t broken, shattered, destroyed, left nearly breathless daily by incosolable pain. Max’s princess died that day she knocked on Pearl’s door and fell into his embrace. She was buried when she held Pearl’s bleeding corpse on that New York street.

Maybe she was never even real in the first place.

Now it’s just Jason, the queen of all whores, and he’s hurting.

The razors are carefully hidden inside my make-up kit I haven’t been using for a while, but I still brought along. I pull one of them out, the bright bathroom lights reflecting off white surface of the sink, and I inhale.

I let myself exhale as I draw the line on the soft skin of my wrist. While red blood stains the formerly pure white sink, in this tiny bathroom full of Max’s drag make-up, so lived-in, vibrant and painfully reminding me that life goes on, whether I like it or not, the pain and pressure I’ve been feeling is finally finding it’s release.

_“Pain is beauty, and I’m the prettiest.”_

_“No, Violet, beauty is beauty. And you’re beautiful, you know. Even without the corsets.”_

_“The corsets define me, Matt.”_

_“Your art defines you.”_

“Jason? Are you in there?”

No, I’m not, I’m not ready for this, I’m not, I never was, I never will be, why, why, why is this happening?

“Please, go away.”

“No. I’m coming in.”

“Please, Max, please don’t, I’m begging you, please – ”

He doesn’t care for my pathetic requests and simply opens the door that I didn’t even bother to lock. My hands are covered in cuts, from my wrists up to my elbows. But there are my legs, too, spread wide where I’m sitting on the floor where the blood dripping from cuts on my thighs starts making a little puddle.

“Jason, oh my God. Oh my God. What have you done?”

“Max, please – ”

“No, that’s it. Are you, are you trying to kill yourself? I’m calling the ambulance.”

“No! Don’t! I’m fine!”

“Fine?! You’re literally covered in blood, what the fuck, how are you telling me you’re fine? How is any of this fine? Drugging yourself senseless, sleeping in a dirty fur coat, getting blackout drunk at a funeral, bringing razors into my house, forcing me to cause you pain, and then – and then this? Please tell me again, how is any of this fine? I should’ve listened to Fame while I had the time, I should’ve, I never should’ve hoped I could help you.” He makes a move like he wants to run back into the bedroom, but then changes his mind and drops to his knees in front of me, dragging his palms through his hair. He’s crying, again, and it’s all my fault.

Somehow I manage to find solace in all of this. Somehow, I realize, this is my rock bottom, and it’s not going to get any worse. It’s just impossible.

I’ve hated myself plenty, but I’ve never hated myself this much. There’s nowhere to go from there, I’m thinking, and it has to end. It has to end right now.

“This is it, Max. This is it”, I say repeatedly, through hysterical laughter bubbling up at the back of my throat, wiping my tears with bloody, dirty hands, managing to bite my lip so hard I’m sure it starts bleeding as well. “Can you please give me my phone?”

“Phone? What for, Jason? You’re scaring me.”

“Just – give me my phone, okay? I need to call my manager and tell him I’m coming back.”

“It’s – it’s five in the morning.”

“Oh. Okay. I can wait then.”

I’m still on the bathroom floor covered in blood, laughing and crying all at once.

“Maybe I should call 911? Jason? Are you sure…?”

“I’m sure, Max. I’m gonna be fine, promise you. Can you help me up now?”

“Okay. Okay, alright.” He steps forward, mindful of the red stains everywhere, and reaches to help me stand up, fear, disgust and worry still all over his face.

“I’m telling you. Stop freaking out. I’m gonna be fine.”

And I’m going to be fine, or die trying.


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Depression’s like a big fur coat,  
> It’s made of dead things but it keeps me warm

* /Violet/

Sometimes at night, I play Pearl’s music loud.

I have an apartment in WeHo now, away from everything that happened, close to everything that’s happening now, allowing me to immerse myself in work. I put myself on a whole different kind of whirlwind because it’s easier not to think. Living like this, I have as little time to myself as possible.

Still, some nights are too quiet, too lonely, so I play Pearl’s first and final album as loud as I can handle, and I let myself cry. I drink half a bottle of our favorite whiskey and I feel so much better in the morning.

I have had Pearl’s fur coat washed. It hangs in my closet, patiently waiting for me to take it out every once in a while. We don’t sleep together anymore, but there are shows when my final number is one of Pearl’s songs.

It’s my own kind of tribute.

I wear a blond wig and the damned fur, I lipsync, I can almost feel Matt laughing at me good-naturedly from beyond, and sometimes I cry.

Sometimes, the audience does it for me.

*

“Hello?” Max’s voice on the other end of the line is shaky, like he’s surprised to hear me and scared of what I’m going to say. I haven’t been in touch with him for three months or more. I needed to clear my head.

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you doing?”

He answers. Three sentences, short and to the point. He finished writing his own musical show. He’s getting bookings all over the US and Europe. It’s going well. “How about you?”

“When are you coming to LA, Max? Would you like to visit me?”

I can hear him take a deep breath, and then release the air slowly. I wait. I pick on some lash glue that I’ve spilled on my make-up table, and I wait.

“Violet, do you want me to – ”

“I don’t know.” I have no idea how he feels about me anymore, I have no idea how I feel about him, except for the fact that I really want to see him. “I can’t make any promises.”

I am fucked up and broken, and we both have to suffer through the consequences. That’s the only constant in my life.

“Okay, okay, okay. I’ll come. Is next week alright?”

*  
I’m faking it.

Every morning when I get up there’s a little effort needed to make it out of the house, every day there’s a little fake enthusiasm needed from me to get people off my back, just a dose so that they know I’m okay, that I’m dealing.

Enough so that they cover their eyes or just stop looking my way.

When I see Max at the airport, his eyes land on me and I fake a smile.

“I missed you, darling. I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too”, I answer, and it’s a little less fake.

Maybe one day I won’t have to fake it at all.

*

_“Hey, sleepyhead! Wake up!”_

_Matt opens his eyes only to frown at me, grab a blanket and throw it over his face. I drag the blanket back down._

_“Leave me alone, asshole! I’m sleeping!”_

_“It’s 11 AM and we have a bus call in half an hour. Get it together.”_

_The hotel room is flooded with sun. Last night, after the show was over, we did nothing but jump each other until we’ve been both satisfied and breathless, and then we turned on the TV and ordered room service at 2 in the morning._

_I don’t expect Matt’s hand that reaches for me from beneath the blanket, so when he grabs me by the waist, I tumble flat onto his body, screaming for help when he starts tickling me._

_“Aaaah! Stop this, you satan! Oh my God, ahahaha, the revenge is gonna come when you least expe – ”_

_I can’t finish my sentence because I’m being kissed, all lazy movements of Matt’s hips finding mine and grinding, all hands in my hair as he rolls onto me._

_This is how he likes to wake up._

_“So, how much time until the bus call?”, he asks._

_“Half an hour. Well, now it’s even less. We don’t have time for this, you still need to pack and – ”_

_“Fuck that. They’ll wait.”_

_He kisses me again, and okay, they’ll wait. They’ll be pissed and looking at our tousled hair and kiss-bitten lips suspiciously, but what the hell._

_This is life, and I want it right now, with Matt._

_“Just make it quick”, I say, and he grins at me, his fingers already working to take off my sweatpants and underwear._

_We make the bus call without being late after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the story!  
> Thank you for reading, commenting and kudosing (is that a word?).  
> If you wanna talk to me, you know where to find me!

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to talk to me about this fic, there's nothing I'd love more!
> 
> Forever yours at samrull.tumblr.com.


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